Landlocked in Light
by readymachine
Summary: "To recap: you meet your soulmate—the person who you are literally destined to spend the rest of your life with—and you just let her go without even giving her your name or anything?" or: a Stydia Soulmate AU.
1. Chapter 1

**October.**

"You know, there's this app that tracks sharks."

It takes Lydia a moment to realize that the stranger who's plopped himself into the seat next to her has broken the cardinal rule of travelling on public transportation by speaking to her. She takes a moment to place her bright pink highlighter between the pages of her Advanced Physics book before she turns to look at him directly. He's fairly attractive, with whiskey-colored eyes framed by dark eyelashes set above a wide, upturned nose. Dark spikes of hair shoot out from underneath his dull orange bomber cap, almost hidden by the gray wool. He wears a navy peacoat, his hands shoved deep inside of the pockets. A small smile plays across his lips as he stares at her from the small expanse of space between them.

"Why would I want to track fish?" She asks, crossing her legs at the knee primly and pushing her strawberry-blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Well, you wouldn't," He responds immediately. "But sharks aren't fish, see, they're in the Chondrichthyes class, not the Osteichthyes class. Sharks have skeletons made of cartilage instead of bones."

Lydia narrows her eyes at his correction.

"Chondrichthyes and Osteichthyes are _both_ fish. Sharks are _cartilaginous fish_ instead of bony fish like Osteichthyes but they're still fish."

His eyes widen and he opens his mouth to respond before he clamps it down, pursing his lips.

"Well, someone obviously lied to me when they told me about sharks," He says, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.

Lydia thinks about turning back to her book and ignoring this guy and his sharks, but his stupid smile is contagious and she finds herself smiling back despite herself.

"Okay," She laughs. "So I'll ask again: why would I want to track fish?"

"They give them names," The stranger responds with a loose shrug. "You get to see when Katherine swims from Florida to New York or when Phillip breaks away from a big group to swim around South America for no reason. You get attached. It's like a soap opera, but with sharks."

Lydia breathes out a laugh as his eyes leisurely scan her face.

"So, what made you want to tell me about your crazy Chondrichthyes soap opera?" She asks after a moment of comfortable silence. The train begins to slow down with a squeal of brakes, jostling the two together. As their shoulders knock into each other, Lydia feels a sudden burst of heat spread across the space directly underneath the crest of her right cheekbone.

"Do you believe in fate?" The stranger asks, getting to his feet as the train comes to a halt. Lydia has lifted a hand to her face, the pads of her fingers tracing the pattern of warmth across her face. She looks up at him, confused, as his pulls his hand out of his pocket to show her the pattern of a glowing golden cog set in the center of his palm—the same cog that Lydia has painted across her cheek. Her jaw drops open in realization as her _soulmate_ walks backwards out of the train, his smile wide across his face.

"Wait!" Lydia manages to shout as she stands, her book thumping to the ground as she lurches for the closing doors. She arrives too late; the doors slide shut in her face. She stands dumbly at the door as she looks out at the man with the challenge in his eyes on the other side of the glass. The train jerks forward. Her soulmate winks at her. The train gains speed and takes off. She watches him standing on the platform, his hands in his pockets and that damn crooked smile plastered on his face, until the train rounds a corner and she loses sight of him. She turns back to her seat and retrieves her book from the floor. With a frown, she realizes her highlighter has gotten lost somewhere in the dirty, sticky space underneath the plastic seats. Lydia wrinkles her nose and decides to cut her loss. She wouldn't have been able to focus on physics anyway.

\- - -

"You did _what_?"

"I asked her if she believed in fate and moonwalked out of the train. Jeez, Scotty, weren't you listening?"

Stiles digs out a substantial spoonful of ice cream from the carton in front of him and puts the whole thing in his mouth at once, staring across the kitchen island at his roommate with what he's hoping is an innocent look across his face.

"So," Scott sighs, an edge of frustration creeping into his voice. "To recap: you meet your soulmate—the person who you are _literally_ _destined to spend the rest of your life with_ —and you just let her go without even giving her your name or anything?"

Stiles grins around the spoon in his mouth and nods proudly. Scott frowns and pulls the carton of ice cream out of Stiles's grasp, eliciting a muffled cry of surprise. Stiles wrenches the utensil from between his lips with a soft _pop_.

"I wasn't done with that!" He whines while Scott puts the carton back into their crowded freezer.

"You don't deserve ice cream," Scott replies. "I can't _believe_ you did that except I can because you're an _idiot_."

"C'mon, man, think about it: it's better my way. Now we'll know for _sure_ that it's fate."

"Because the Marks aren't proof enough that it's fate?"

Scott crosses his arms over his chest with a raised eyebrow and leans backwards against the fridge. Stiles shrugs noncommittally, mirroring Scott's position from the stool he's seated in. Scott just shakes his head, his dark brown curls bouncing across his forehead.

"Look, dude, you were lucky enough to find your soulmate," Scott says, the edge of his thumb brushing the faded arrowhead-shaped Mark on his tan bicep set right below the two bars he'd gotten tattooed around his arm on his 18th birthday. "Not everyone gets that."

Stiles deflates ever-so-slightly. Scott had always loved his Mark ever since they were kids. He would talk to Stiles for hours about his soulmate as they played video games in Stiles's messy room: what kind of person he thought they must be, when and how they would finally meet, how their lives would be when they finally met each other. Scott knew with absolute certainly that he wouldn't be _truly_ happy until he found his match. It was a Saturday afternoon in November when the mark suddenly drained itself of its black color, fading into a raw pink that would fade further over the years into a dull scar. Whoever Scott's soulmate had been, Scott would never know what happened.

"Look," Stiles puffs out, hunching forward and focusing his gaze on the spoon he's turning over in his hands. "I know the legends and I know that when we find the person who we're 'meant' to be with the Marks will tell us—"

"Which yours _did_ by the way, or did you not notice that it had turned gold?"

"— _but_ I just can't buy it, man. Life isn't one of those stupid movie scenes where two people see each other from across a crowded room and they've got the same Mark and _bam_ they're together forever after that. If I'm really _meant_ to be with this girl like you say, we'll find each other again and we'll figure it out from there."

Stiles finally looks up at Scott from underneath the fringe of his lashes and leans back in his chair. Scott is still for a moment as he considers what Stiles has said. After a pause, he audibly sighs and drops his hands to his sides.

"I still think you're an idiot," Scott says, shaking his head with a lopsided grin. "I bet you pissed her off so badly by not giving her your name that she won't talk to you again, even if she _does_ find you."

Stiles smiles wide, relaxing.

"Hey, if we're meant for each other, she'll find some way past it."

Scott crosses through the kitchen into the attached living room, grabbing his coat from the back of the couch and throwing Stiles his bomber cap. Stiles tries to catch it, but miscalculates and watches it soar right past his outstretched fingers with a swear.

"Whatever, dude," Scott laughs as Stiles hops down from the stool to collect his hat. "Grab your stuff, we've got practice in an hour and I don't want to have to explain to Derek why we're late."

Stiles rolls his eyes, but quickly jams his hat onto his head and follows Scott through the front door. He didn't feel like being on the receiving end of a Derek Hale Death Glaretoday.

"By the way, sharks are _totally_ fish," Stiles says to Scott as he closes the door behind him.

\- - -

Lydia _hated_ having her Mark on her face. Her entire life, strangers in the street with golden Marks would give her pitying looks as they passed, some even stopping her to assure her that she would meet her soulmate one day if she just kept her chin up and held onto hope.

Lydia thought it was stupid.

She didn't believe in this concept of _true love_ that had taken over the thoughts of everyone around her. The girls in her classes used to sigh about how their lives would not really start until their soulmates came into their lives and finally made them _whole_. Lydia would have no part of that. She was _not_ an incomplete person who needed the love of another to become "whole"—she was _already_ a whole person. Besides, it wasn't like everyone got to meet their soulmate. Her parents hadn't been soulmates (though, to be fair, their relationship was tumultuous at best and had ended during Lydia's freshman year of high school) and more and more people were being born without Marks.

By middle school, she had resorted to using concealer to cover it up to prevent the sympathetic looks and unwanted supportive hands that insisted on touching her shoulders or forearms every time she left the house. But then Allison Argent transferred to Lydia's high school their sophomore year and everything changed. Allison's Mark was a small arrowhead set above her right eyebrow, the black stark against her white skin. Allison did not cover it up or let people try to make a big deal about the fact that she hadn't found her soulmate.

"The way I see it," She'd whispered to Lydia one night as the two were going to bed, their foreheads pressed together in the darkness of Lydia's bedroom. "I have to grow into the person that I'm meant to be before I meet whoever this guy—"

"Or girl," Lydia had interjected pointedly.

"—this guy _or girl_ who is supposed to compliment me. One day I'll be ready for this person, but I have to finish…finish cooking first."

Allison had giggled then and Lydia loved that she said _compliment_ instead of _complete_ and she loved Allison's laugh and the way the moonlight made her skin glow. She stopped covering up her Mark and started holding hands with Allison in the hallway, trading smiles over the looks they'd get with their fierce eyes and mismatched Marks.

But Allison never got to meet her compliment.

She died on a hunting trip with her father when she and Lydia were juniors in high school. Lydia still woke up in the night sometimes with her breath caught somewhere in her throat, swearing that she could hear Allison's voice in her ear.

Today, with her Mark glowing gold on her cheek, Lydia is getting a different kind of attention than she is used to. Instead of the condescending, consoling stares she had grown accustomed to, Lydia is receiving knowing smiles and sly looks. Some point to their own golden Marks with a wink as she passes. Other people with Marks black on their skin stare at her with jealousy or bitterness. Lydia has the distinct feeling that she had been unwillingly admitted into a secret club where everyone flaunts their apparent happiness—something Lydia found pretentious at best.

If she ever saw her soulmate again, she was going to _kill_ him.

She walks up to the library to meet Malia (an uncharacteristically ten minutes late, she might add) and finds her roommate standing next to the entrance, her face practically glued to her phone. She's wearing Lydia's warmest winter coat (no doubt stolen from Lydia's closet after Lydia had left for class) paired with her signature short shorts and thigh-high boots despite the biting cold. Lydia rolls her eyes, but smiles despite herself.

"Sorry I'm late," She says, coming to a halt in front of Malia. She glances down at Malia's screen and smiles. "Bejeweled? Really?"

"Don't laugh, I've almost beat my high sc—holy shit!"

Malia cuts herself off as she looks up and sees Lydia's Mark, still warm against her face.

"You met your match!" Malia exclaims, hopping up and down excitedly as she shoves her phone into the depths of her coat. Her dark hair, recently cut, bounces around her excited face.

"Well, that's a way to put it," Lydia says with an eye roll. She takes Malia by the wrist and pulls the girl into the library's atrium to get out of the cold.

"So tell me the story, girl!" Malia shouts as they cross into the library proper, her voice echoing among the stacks. Lydia winces as several people turn to look at them disapprovingly.

"Keep your voice down," She hisses, releasing her hold on Malia and heading towards one of the private study rooms in the back of the building. "I'll tell you in a second."

"I can't believe it!" Malia laughs, her voice only slightly lower than before. "This should be good."

Lydia reaches a free room and ducks into it, throwing her bag on the table while Malia closes the door behind them.

"Spill," Malia says, slumping down into one of the uncomfortable chairs while shedding off her coat. Lydia doesn't sit yet. Instead she rips her scarf off and deposits it on the table, starting to pace angrily.

"It was this guy on the train," She grumbled. "He told me about this app where you can track sharks." 

"I heard about that! Don't they give them names?"

"Yeah, it's like a shark soap opera."

Lydia almost wants to smack herself for saying it. Malia giggles, drawing her long legs up next to her in the chair.

"So, what's he like? What's his name? Is he hot?" Malia asks, brown eyes wide and looking up at Lydia earnestly.

"I don't know!" Lydia exclaims, throwing her hands up and then setting them on her hips. "I mean, _yes_ he's attractive, I guess, but he didn't tell me his name or anything."

"…What?"

"He told me about the stupid shark app, then asked me if I believe in fate, then he just fucking _left_ and stood there on the platform smiling at me while the train left."

Malia tries to stifle a laugh and fails miserably, the sound grating out of her nose. Lydia spins and glares.

"Oh, don't glare at me Lydia Martin," Malia says, smile still stretched across her face. "You know just as well as I do that only _your_ match would do something as stupid as that."

Lydia makes a sound between a groan and a sigh, dropping down into an available chair.

"Well, because he's an _idiot_ , I'll probably never see him again," Lydia says, fishing her worn copy of The Riverside Shakespeare out of her bag. Malia growls in front of her, laying her head down on the table between them.

"No, put that away," She begs, her voice muffled by the laminate wood.

"You're the one that chose Shakespeare over Chaucer," Lydia quips back. She opens the book up to _Much Ado About Nothing_ , the page already marked with a green pen.

"They're both terrible, dead old men," Malia responds, picking her head up with a frown.

Lydia shrugs and shakes her head, smiling slightly.

"At least you've got me to help translate it for you."

She winks and Malia rolls her eyes, but laughs anyway. She reaches into her bag and drags out her own Riverside, slamming it down on the desk. As she does, Lydia sees the thin black plus sign on the inside of Malia's wrist. Briefly, Lydia misses when her own Mark was black against her cheek, but she quickly pushes the thought out of her head. There's nothing she can change about it now.

" _If it prove so, then loving goes by haps:/Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps_."

Three hours later, Lydia stops by the main library counter to check out a few of late books while Malia runs outside to answer a phone call. The girl behind the counter is around her age with a glowing golden octagon on her forearm. As she catches sight of Lydia's Mark, she smiles wide.

"How long since you met your soulmate?" The girl asks, taking the books and Lydia's debit card from Lydia's outstretched hands.

"I met Stephen last month," The girl continues without waiting for Lydia to answer, processing the books quickly and handing Lydia's card back to her. "We're planning for a wedding in May. Can you believe it?"

"That's…great," Lydia manages, smiling awkwardly. _Who marries someone after only knowing them for a month?_ The girl looks confused for a moment, but Lydia takes her cards and leaves before the girl can say anything else.

She's definitely going to kill her soulmate if she sees him again.


	2. Chapter 2

**November.**

Malia pulls a B- on her Shakespeare exam. She comes home from class on Monday afternoon with a proud smile across her face and slams the test down onto their small dining room table while Lydia is eating Lucky Charms and lazily reading articles on her phone.

"Look at you!" Lydia exclaims through a mouthful of dehydrated marshmallows.

"I know!" Malia crows happily. "Do you want to go down to Hannigan's to celebrate?"

Lydia shakes her head as she shovels the last of her cereal in her mouth.

"Can't," She says after she swallows, checking the time. "I've got to head down to the lab."

She stands and deposits her bowl in the sink before tugging on the warm coat hung up by the door.

"Ugh, you spend _all_ your time there. Wouldn't you rather come get a drink with me in a dark, smelly bar?"

Lydia rolls her eyes.

"Ask me again when you get an A."

Malia groans and flops facedown onto their shabby couch while Lydia grabs her purse from the coffee table.

"Who am I supposed to hang out with?" She moans into the fabric as Lydia heads for the door.

"Your _other friends_."

"What 'other friends?'"

"Kira's back in town, according to Facebook…"

Malia sits up abruptly, her eyes narrowed.

"Don't _even_ ," She growls.

Lydia laughs as she leaves, pulling the door shut behind her.

Half an hour later, Lydia is heading for the lab with her eye on the time when she passes by a café and sees an unmistakable flash of dull orange that stops her in her tracks. She stares openly through the window, her heart stuttering a strange pattern inside of her chest.

Her _soulmate_ sits inside of the café, his navy peacoat thrown across the chair behind him and his stupid bomber hat still shoved on his head. One of his hands is drawn up to his mouth, his neat teeth gnawing on the skin around the edge of his thumbnail while the other hand scribbles something into a notebook laid on the table in front of him. Lydia pauses, torn. This is _statistically impossible_ and she knows she will be late if she stops, but…

Lydia squares her shoulders, then turns and stomps into the café. She marches up to the small table her soulmate is sitting at, pulls out the chair across from him (denying his long legs a footstool, she notices with a rush of satisfaction), and perches herself there, her back straight and her hands steepled on the table in front of her. Her soulmate lets out a yell of protest before he looks up and sees who is sitting across from him. His face immediately lights up, his wide eyes glowing in the sunlight coming through the window.

"No," Lydia says before he can say anything, finally answering the question he had posed to her almost a full month before. He just smiles wider.

"You can't honestly tell me you don't believe in fate," He responds quickly. He leans back in his chair, his hands meeting behind his head. Lydia notices a tattoo of intertwined peonies climbing along the inside of his bicep. She ignores the stab of heat that sparks in her stomach.

"I don't believe in fate," She replies. "This is just a coincidence."

"Coincidence?" He laughs. "You really believe what you're saying right now?"

He takes a moment to pull the bomber cap off his head, throwing it on top of the notebook between them. His hair somehow manages to be casually spikey despite the woolen prison he had confined it in.

"Fact 1," He says, holding up a single slender finger and patting it against the palm of the opposite hand. "We have identical Marks that turned gold when we met."

"Irrelevant," Lydia counters. "People with different Marks have perfectly—"

"Fact 2," He says over her, drawing glances from the surrounding tables. "In a city with literally _millions_ of people you happened to walk past the _one_ café that I happen to frequent at _precisely_ the moment that I was sitting in the window."

" _Also_ irrelevant—"

"Fact 3—and this one's a big one—even though you claim _not_ to believe in fate, you _still came in here to talk to me_."

Lydia mashes her lips together and crosses her arms over her chest. A cocky smile spreads across his face. Lydia could slap him.

"Are you done?" Lydia asks, the sneer evident in her tone. He nods, unfazed.

"Okay, firstly, if you interrupt me again I'll actually strangle you to death. Secondly, the Marks don't mean _anything_. People with different Marks or no Marks have perfectly happy, functioning, loving relationships and, _more importantly_ , some people with matching Marks don't stay together. These,"—she gestures towards the Mark on her face—"are not a guarantee that we're even going to like each other. You can't sit there and tell me that you and I are supposed to run off into the sunset and get married in six months when _I don't even know your name_."

"Oh, God, no," He replies, frowning. "A wedding in May? Are you crazy? We'll get married in October."

Lydia glares at him and he laughs, throwing his head back.

"No, okay, look," He reaches forward, his hand outstretched between them with the golden cog in the center of his palm visible. Lydia narrows her eyes, but reaches forward and takes his hand in hers. His skin is pleasantly warm, the cog on his skin pulsing lightly in time with his heartbeat.

"Hello," He smiles, shaking her hand firmly. "I'm Stiles. Stiles Stilinski."

"Lydia Martin," She responds.

"It's nice to meet you, Lydia Martin," He says. He takes a little too long to let go of her hand, but she lets him just this once.

Lydia stands and straightens her skirt, her hand suddenly cold without the heat from his palm against hers.

"Are you leaving?" He asks, alarm flashing briefly over his face before it's replaced with forced aloofness.

"I've got to get to work," She says, checking the time on her phone and tsking. "I'm going to be so late."

"Can I have your number?" Stiles says quickly, pulling his phone out of his pocket and promptly dropping it on the ground. It bounces once and lands neatly at Lydia's feet. Lydia laughs as he turns bright red, but bends down to retrieve it for him. She quickly makes a new contact for herself in his phone, adding a star emoji before her name. She hands his phone back and gives an awkward wave goodbye before turning and quickly leaving. Her phone buzzes in her jacket pocket before the door even shuts behind her. She stops to look at it in front of the window that Stiles is smiling out at her from.

 _Unknown Number_

 _Bye, future wifey._

Lydia glares up at Stiles through the window. He winks down at her, giving a thumbs up. Lydia responds with an exaggerated eye roll and a raised middle finger before she continues down the street. He's still laughing as she rounds the corner and disappears from sight.

"You're late," Scott shouts as Stiles stumbles into the practice space. Scott's already got his Fender in hand, focused on the effects pedal in front of him. Derek stands off to the side, his guitar slung over his back as he speaks to someone quietly on the phone. Isaac's sitting on a stool near Scott, his bass pulled almost comically high on his chest (Stiles makes a mental note to mock him for it later).

"Lydia Martin!" Stiles yells in response, throwing his bag down next to the door and scrambling up to Scott, his phone held out. "Her name is Lydia Martin!"

On his way to practice, Stiles had taken the time to Facebook stalk Lydia and save several of her profile pictures to his phone. He's pulled up his favorite, a picture of Lydia posing at a bar next to a fierce-looking girl with long blonde hair. She's mid-laugh, her head thrown back slightly, the harsh light of the flash highlighting the flush in her cheeks against her pale skin. The cog on her cheeks stands out, a tittle to her dimple.

"Holy shit, you found her," Scott says, taking Stiles's phone from him and holding it close to his face to study the picture of Lydia. Stiles swings his arms out wide in triumph, then brings them back together with a clap.

"I told you!" Stiles says. "She saw me at Has Beans and came in! I've got her number and everything!"

Isaac leans over Scott's shoulder to look at the phone and lets out a low whistle.

"Great job, Stilinski," Isaac nods. "Except now I owe Erica twenty bucks. I definitely thought you'd never find her again."

"You should slide it straight over to me, Lahey, 'cause I bet Erica twenty bucks that your IQ drops when you wear big stupid scarves," Stiles shoots back, raising an eyebrow in a challenge while Scott hands him his phone back.

"Low blow, man!" Isaac exclaims, standing up and reaching for his oversized black scarf angrily. "You think just because you found your _soulmate_ —"

"Shut up," Derek thunders over them, causing Stiles and Isaac to immediately quiet down. Their older band mate steps forward and slips his phone into his painted-on jeans. He crosses his arms over his equally painted-on shirt and stares down at the younger boys with dark eyes, his permanent frown set on his tan face. His golden Mark, three vertical lines high on the left side of his neck, glow brightly against his skin.

Scott met Derek when he was a freshman in college while Derek was a senior. They'd found a common interest in sad '80s music and angry '90s grunge and had decided to form a band that summer with Derek on lead guitar and Scott on lead vocals and back-up guitar. Scott had, naturally, pulled Stiles in on the drums. Four months later, Derek found Isaac wailing out shitty poetry in a local hookah bar and quickly added him to the pack (despite protests from Stiles). He swore he saw "potential" in the blond and, if you got him drunk, even Stiles would admit that Isaac could be _worse_. Derek had dubbed their quartet Triskelion ("But Derek, there are _four_ of us and the triskelion symbolizes— _stop looking at me like that what the fuck man_?") and for the last three years they'd been a favorite in the local scene. They had _t-shirts_ for fuck's sake—and sometimes they even saw people in the mall wearing them.

"I've got good news and I've got bad news," He says, his tone uncharacteristically light. "The good news is that we've got a show this Saturday."

Stiles whoops as Scott cheers and lets a crooked smile spread across his face. Behind them, Isaac plays a few chords on his bass in celebration.

"So what's the bad news?" Scott asks, brow knitting together.

Derek sighs through his nose, but a smile spreads across his face. Stiles is immediately alarmed.

"Braeden got the job with the FBI. We're moving to D.C."

The three boys stand silently for a moment, shocked.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Stiles finally breathes out.

"That's—that's great! Good for her! For both of you!" Scott manages.

"So what's that mean for us?" Isaac says from the back, voicing the question the three of them all want to ask.

Derek uncrosses his arms and pulls his guitar around to his front.

"It means we're going to play an amazing show this Saturday," He says, strumming the beginning chords of their newest song. "After that, it's up to you guys."

" _Oh_ , _fuck_ ," Stiles repeats, louder.

"We're really gonna miss you, man," Scott says, looking like the wind had been knocked out of him.

"Shut up, McCall," Derek answers, but he smiles ( _seriously, he needs to stop smiling this is too much for Stiles to handle_ ) and takes his place in front of a mic. "Now get your asses over here and let's practice."

"What kind of name is _Stiles_?" Malia ask, wrinkling her nose as she stares down at the picture Lydia is showing her on her phone.

As soon as Lydia had left the lab (where she had made at least _four_ stupid mistakes, much to her chagrin) she found a Facebook friend request from Stiles Stilinski as well as seven unread text messages from him—five of which were random animal facts. She had accepted the friend request, shot back a simple text demanding that he _stop_ calling her "future wifey" and spent the rest of the trip willing herself not to look through his photos. However, when Lydia had returned home and told her roommate about what had happened, Malia had demanded to see a picture. His current profile picture was a cropped, blurry shot of him sitting behind a drum set and the picture after that was an uncropped version of his current profile picture, but the third was a flattering shot of Stiles sitting in a high-backed dining chair with rosy cheeks, a wide smile spread across his face and his cheeks rosy. He was holding his hand up in greeting to whoever took the picture, conveniently showing the Mark on his palm.

"I think it's a nickname," Lydia responds. "I mean, it's got to be a nickname, right?"

Malia shrugs, handing Lydia's phone back to her.

"He's cute," She says, nodding in approval. "And he's in a band?"

"According to Facebook."

"What's it called?"

"Triskelion?"

"Oh!" Malia perks up, pushing herself up onto her elbows from her place on the couch. "I've heard of them! They're supposed to be really good!"

Lydia shrugs and sinks down into their armchair, slipping off her heels.

"Are you going to like…hang out with him or anything?" Malia asks, propping her head up on her hand to stare over at the redhead.

"I don't know," Lydia sighs, reaching down to massage her calves. "I mean, he seems _fine_ but if I'm going to get a Fields Medal before I'm 30 I can't really afford to be distracted."

"Lydia, you know I love you," Malia says, pushing herself up into a sitting position and drawing her legs underneath her. "But you're going to work yourself to death if you keep up at this pace."

Lydia scoffs.

"You think I should give up on the dream I've had since I was seven to go chase after this guy I _just_ met?"

"No," Malia answers. "I'm just saying he could be fun."

"Fun is for the weak," Lydia answers automatically, smiling.

"Then I'd rather be weak," Malia smiles back.

They laugh with each other and Lydia feels a small tug in her chest ( _ten days how can you laugh in ten days it will be five years_ ) but then her phone begins to ring. Lydia frowns down at her phone as she picks it up.

"Who even calls anymore?" Malia asks from the couch, mirroring Lydia's expression.

"Shit, it's Stiles!" Lydia responds, sitting up in her chair as she looks down at the name displayed across her screen. She realizes with a jolt that it's the first time she's said his name out loud. She hates the way it fits so neatly in her mouth, rolling off her tongue like she had been saying it her whole life.

"Answer it!" Malia yells, sitting up on her knees with a smile spread across her face. "Answer it, answer it now!"

Lydia holds up a hand to silence her as she swipes right to answer the call.

"Uh…hi?"

Malia giggles from the couch. Lydia glares.

"Heeeeeey, future wifey," Stiles says, his voice loud. He sounds slightly out of breath, but Lydia can hear the smile in his voice.

"I'm going to hang up now."

Malia has crawled as close to Lydia as she can from the couch in order to hear the conversation, leaning over the armrest so far that Lydia is sure she's going to fall.

"No, don't hang up!" Stiles exclaims. There's a shuffle as though he's moved the phone to his other ear.

"Why did you call me, stranger?" Lydia asks. She stands up in the seat of her chair and plants a foot on either footrest—a leftover restless habit from her childhood.

"I've just had a _bitch_ of a day and felt like complaining to someone."

Malia giggles from the couch, teetering backwards and falling onto her back. Lydia waves a hand to shush her and quickly steps over the end table to stand on the armrest of the couch that Malia had just vacated.

"So you chose me to complain to?"

"Well, my normal guy had to go to the library because he's a dweeb—"

"Who the hell says _dweeb_ anymore?"

"—so, I thought I'd give you a ring to see if I could unload my problems on you while I suffer through the walk home by my lonesome."

Lydia rolls her eyes.

"Proceed with your unloading."

Stiles inhales deeply before beginning, the words rushing out of him in a single breath.

"Right, so, I'm in this band with these three other guys and the main guitarist told us today that he has to move to D.C. because his girlfriend is a super badass who just got hired by the FBI to fight crime or find aliens or whatever it is that the FBI does so now we need to find another guitarist but since we're all swamped with school we don't really have the time to do that so basically we're _fucked_."

Lydia steps up onto the back of the couch.

"That's all? That's your bitch of a day? You just need to find a guitarist?"

"I also dropped my waffle onto the floor this morning. Oh, and I made an ass of myself in front of a pretty girl at Has Beans when I accidentally threw my phone at her."

Lydia snorts.

"Nice line. But if all you need is a guitarist, I know a really good one who just moved back into town."

Malia suddenly stands in her seat, her mouth open and her eyes wild. She shakes her head ferociously, mouthing the words " _don't you dare_."

"Oh yeah? What's his name?"

" _Her_ name is Kira. Kira Yukimura."

Lydia dodges Malia's outstretched hand, jumping onto the floor while Malia climbs onto the back of the couch after her.

" _What in the hell are you doing?_ " She hisses under her breath. Lydia holds her hand up to quiet her and Malia stops, perched on the back of the couch like a gargoyle.

"I haven't heard of her," Stiles replies. "But, hey, she's welcome to come down to audition with us if she wants. I'm sure she'll like us 'cause we're super rad and all, but we've got a show this Saturday at Deucalion's if you want to bring her to come see us play."

"What makes you think _I'd_ go to a crappy bar—"

"It's not so bad anymore since they fixed the pipes."

"—to see you play? I can just tell Kira and she can go by herself."

"I'll put you on the list and you can get in for free. You can walk up to the guy at the door and be all 'I'm on the list' and bam, you get in for free."

"You're not making a very strong case."

"I can also get Kira in for free. She can also walk up to the guy and the door and be all 'I'm on the list' and—"

"Still not good enough."

Stiles lets out an exaggerated whine.

"I will also buy all of your drinks."

" _Now_ you have my attention."

"But only _your_ drinks. Your friend is on her own."

Malia groans and falls backwards onto the cushions of the couch, her legs draped over the back of the couch.

"Can my roommate get in on the magical list, too?" Lydia asks.

Malia kicks her legs in protest, but doesn't make a sound.

"I should be able to swing that, sure," Stiles responds. "But I'm not buying her drinks either. _Only yours_."

"Perfect. I'll text Kira tonight and let you know what she says."

"Awesome," Stiles says. There's the sound of a door opening and shutting.

"Are you home now?" Lydia asks. She walks back to the armchair she was in when he called, slumping down into it.

"Just walked into the lobby," He replies. "I have to let you go now. I'll definitely lose you in this shitty elevator."

"Alright. Bye, stranger."

"So, hey, if Kira ends up joining our band will you concede that fate exists?"

"No. _Bye_ , Stiles."

Stiles laughs.

"Bye, Lydia."

Lydia hangs up the phone and sets it on the end table next to her. Malia sits up and haughtily crosses her arms over her chest.

"I'm not going," She says.

"Yes, you are," Lydia replies, suppressing her own yawn behind her hand. "You will go and you will have fun and you are going to be an adult about this. Do you remember when I went with you to Danny Mahealani's party at great personal embarrassment to myself?"

Malia lets out an obnoxious sigh.

" _Fine_ ," She says. "I'll go with you to watch your _soulmate_ play in his dumb band. But I'm not gonna have fun."

She stands and stomps to her bedroom, slamming the door a little louder than necessary.

"You still have to be an adult about this!" Lydia calls to her. On the end table, her phone buzzes.

 _Stiles Stilinski_

 _DID YOU KNOW that hippos sweat pink?_


	3. Chapter 3

"Please don't make me go."

Lydia finishes typing her text to Stiles assuring him that _yes, for the millionth time we are_ _on their way_ before she glances over at the brunette pleading with her.

"We're only two stops away from where we need to get off and we're already late because you won't quit acting like a child. You're coming."

Malia groans too loudly and throws her head back, thwacking it dully against the train's dirty window.

"Stop acting like this is the end of the world," Lydia says, rolling her eyes. "Things didn't end _that_ poorly with you and Kira. I don't know why you're trying to avoid her so thoroughly."

"Things ended _so_ poorly," Malia shoots back, crossing her arms over her chest and hunkering down in her seat. Her jacket bunches up adorably around her cheeks and Lydia laughs as the train jerks to a halt.

"You guys broke up in high school, I'm positive she's over it."

"We didn't even really date how could we have—"

"You two were _absolutely_ dating! You held hands in the hallways and made out underneath the bleachers and passed love notes in class just like couples do."

"Well so did you and Alli—"

Malia stops herself before she can say it. Lydia's heart goes cold and a shudder rolls up her back that she hides as the train moves forward.

"Sorry," Malia mutters, sinking even further in her seat and refusing to look at Lydia. "I didn't—I know—Sorry."

Lydia takes a deep breath in through her nose and exhales evenly, forcing her heart to stop aching and resume its normal pace. She reaches out a hand and sets in on Malia's bare knee, squeezing slightly in forgiveness before she pulls her hand back to her lap.

"Look, we're going to this show and we're going to drink and have fun and you're going to be nice to Kira because I'm one hundred percent sure that she's forgiven you for breaking up with her at graduation like an _asshole_ because that girl is a fucking treasure. Okay?"

"Okay," Malia says, meekly.

They sit in tense silence for nearly four solid minutes before Malia gains the courage to speak.

"So, does us going to this show mean that you've changed your mind?"

"Changed my mind about what?" Lydia asks, standing as the train begins screeching to a halt. Malia follows, a wide smile spreading across her face.

"Changed your mind about your _soulmate_."

Lydia frowns and rolls her eyes as the train stops and the doors open. Together, the girls exit onto the dirty platform and begin heading briskly for the exit.

"Changed it from what to what?"

"Do you like him? I mean you text him _all the time_ —"

" _He_ texts _me_ all of the time."

"But you text back all of the time!"

Lydia pushes through the turnstile and heads up the stairs to the outside, a freezing blast of wind shooting down and blowing her curled hair back from her face. She pulls her jacket closer, cursing herself for wearing a skirt that is seasonally too short and leggings that are way too thin. They turn right, starting the two blocks towards Deucalion's.

"I can talk to him without dating him."

"Right. But do you like him?"

"I like plenty of people that I don't intend to date."

"But do you _like_ him like him?"

"I am not in elementary school anymore, Malia, I don't ' _like_ like' people."

"Do you _adult_ like him like him?"

"I'm not responding to this ridiculous line of questioning anymore."

Malia giggles and skips forward, wrapping her warm hand around Lydia's freezing fingers.

"Fine, fine, I'll stop," Malia says through her grin. "Just don't hold back if you like him like him, okay?"

She squeezes Lydia's hand for emphasis and Lydia finds herself smiling.

"You know me," She responds shortly as the two round the corner and come into view of Deucalion's. They make it within thirty feet of the entrance when Malia rips her hand out of Lydia's and lets out a strangled whine.

Kira stands awkwardly by the door, half-hidden in darkness while her eyes dart around and she shuffles her Nike-clad feet to keep warm. She looks almost exactly as Lydia remembered her from high school, from the long dark hair to the tattered leather jacket hugging her shoulders. As Kira sees the two girls approaching, a smile breaks across her face, only faltering slightly as she glances towards Malia.

"Sorry we're late!" Lydia exclaims, stepping forward and pulling Kira into a hug. Kira responds clumsily, but enthusiastically, her arms hovering wildly over Lydia's back before she finally gives in and wraps her arms around the redhead's waist.

"It's okay!" She laughs, pulling back. "I'm so glad you called! This should be fun, right? I think it'll be fun."

She lets out a nervous peal of laughter before her eyes slide to Malia, standing stiffly behind Lydia.

"Hey, Malia," Kira offers, her smile just a little too tight. Malia responds with an equally strained smile and a limp wave. Lydia looks between them and shakes her head.

"Let's head inside where it's warm," She says, heading for the entrance. The other girls quickly follow, making sure not to touch as they crowd together through the door.

Deucalion's is just as dirty as Lydia was expecting. The large room is lit only with blue spotlights and a string of half-broken, blinking Christmas lights tacked over the bar and the arch in the back wall that leads to the bathrooms and the band storage area. A low stage dominates the left-hand corner of the venue, the floor sagging slightly under the weight of the instruments and a group of skinny teenage boys wearing pants three sizes too small who are screeching unintelligible words while producing a cacophony of off-beat noise. A large billiards table is set up close to the bar and several people milling around are perched on the edges. Despite the no smoking laws, the smell of stale smoke and spilled beer permeates the structure. A high table is on their immediate right, behind which sits a muscular man with a passive scowl on his face. A golden triangle glows against his black skin, nestled at the hollow of his throat. He does not look up at Lydia as she approaches, his eyes focused instead on the phone in his huge hands.

"Cover charge is $15," He yells over the blare before Lydia can speak.

"Uh…we're on the list?"

The man slowly looks up and his eyes fall on Lydia's Mark. He smirks, leaning forward with a pen in hand and crossing three names off a dirty sheet of paper in front of him.

"So you're Stilinski's girl?"

Lydia bristles.

"I'm a girl that knows Stilinski," She shoots back, her lips pursed. He laughs shortly and holds out a bright pink wristband. Lydia holds her wrist up and he attaches it there for her.

"Yeah, he said you'd be like that."

"Like what?" Lydia asks as he puts wristbands on Kira and Malia.

"Ask him yourself," He says, gesturing behind her with a jerk of his head.

Lydia turns and finds Stiles emerging from the back of the building, his eyes roaming the crowd. When he catches sight of Lydia, a crooked smile blossoms across his face and he raises his hand in greeting. As he strides over, Lydia plants her hands on her hips and frowns at him. The band on the stage abruptly finishes playing, the lead singer muttering a thanks into the mic before they begin unloading their equipment off the stage. There's scattered applause.

"What have you been telling people about me?" She asks when Stiles gets close, her ears ringing in the sudden silence.

"I see you've met Boyd," Stiles says, waving at the guy behind the table.

" _What have you been telling people about me_?" Lydia repeats.

"No—nothing!" Stiles exclaims, holding his hands up. "I haven't said anything, I swear!"

"He said you'd be a firecracker," Boyd says behind them. Lydia hears Kira giggle. "Now will you guys move?"

The door has opened and a gaggle of high schoolers all wearing heavy make up and Triskelion t-shirts have filed in, glancing nervously around the crowded bar with awkward smiles. One of them stares at Stiles with her mouth hanging open, clearly enamored by his long eyelashes and the tight V-neck that he is somehow pulling off. Lydia reaches out and taps Stiles on the chest, pushing him slightly. He takes the hint and back pedals, guiding Lydia and her friends over to the bar. A girl about their age with long, wavy blonde hair puts a beer down on the bar as Stiles approaches, smirking at him. Stiles takes it with a nod and turns back to Lydia.

"So introduce me to your friends," He says, raising the beer and taking a sip without breaking eye contact. Lydia feels a flush across her chest as she watches his lips wrap around the glass of the bottle, but she quickly pushes it away as she turns to the two girls standing awkwardly next to each other.

"This is my roommate, Malia Tate, and our friend Kira Yukimura."

"You're Kira the guitarist?" He asks Kira, an easy smile across his face.

"Er—yeah! Yeah, that's me," Kira says, smiling nervously.

"Very cool! I'll go grab Scott and introduce you!"

As he turns to leave, Lydia grabs him by the back of his t-shirt and pulls him back. He flails a bit as he spins around, spilling beer up his arm.

"What about my free drinks?" She asks, ignoring his frown.

"Oh!" He leans over and obnoxiously waves a hand at the blonde bartender, who is serving drinks on the other end of the bar. She sees him waving and dramatically sighs, stomping over.

"What do you want, Batman?" She asks. Stiles laughs sarcastically at her.

"Look, _Catwoman_ , I need a favor," He says, pointing at Lydia. "I need you to give this beautiful girl here drinks on my tab, but _just_ this beautiful girl. Not her two friends. Just _this_ beautiful girl, okay?"

"Oh, so just _that_ beautiful girl?" The girl repeats, pointing at Lydia.

"Yes, exactly, _just this beautiful girl_ ," He puts an arm around Lydia's shoulders quickly, his hand ghosting over her before he pulls back. He begins to walk towards the back of the building again, throwing up a finger gun and winking.

"Thanks, Erica!" He shouts over the growing noise of the crowd as he goes. "I'll be right back!"

"So, beautiful girl," Erica asks as soon as Stiles disappears into the back room, a wolfish smile across her face. "Would you like to buy your friends some drinks?"

Lydia laughs as she takes a seat on the worn stool in front of her. Malia takes the stool on her left while Kira sits on her right.

"I would love to!" Lydia says. "And you know, I think we've got expensive tastes tonight."

Erica nods with a wink.

"Got it," She laughs, turning and pulling down four dusty bottles from the shelf. As she comes back, Lydia sees a golden triangle shining on her chest, partially hidden in her cleavage.

"Are you with the guy at the door?" Malia asks, seeing the Mark as well.

"Yeah, that's my Boyd," Erica grins down at the glasses as she artfully pours in layer after layer of liquor. "We've been together 20 years now."

"Holy shit," Malia says. "So you two've been together since, like—"

"Since elementary school, yeah."

"Oh! That's…wow. How do you…?"

"How do you know Stiles?" Lydia asks over Malia, cutting off Malia's questioning. Erica finishes the tall drinks with a flourish and drops cherries in each one before sliding them to the three girls across from her.

"I went to high school with him and—"

"Scott! Look, look Scott!"

Stiles returns, bounding over to the group of girls and standing excitedly next to Lydia. Scott trails behind him, looking slightly embarrassed at Stiles's behavior but a friendly smile across his face. Scott's cute in a puppy dog kind of way, Lydia decides as she takes a large gulp of her drink, with earnest eyes and a leather jacket that is a size too big for him. Stiles gestures wildly at Lydia, his beer gone.

"Look Scott, it's Lydia! Lydia is here. Look, Scott, look."

Scott laughs, reaching out to shake Lydia's hand.

"Nice to meet you, Lydia," He says before turning to Erica. "You _know_ how he gets after two beers why did you give him another one?"

Erica smiles wickedly.

"It was his third."

She sets a drink in front of Scott before dancing down to the other end of the bar. Scott takes it with a laugh and a shake of his head as Lydia turns to Malia and Kira to introduce them.

"These are my friends, Malia and Kira."

When she turns back around Scott is staring openly at Kira, his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes wide. He catches himself before Kira does, jamming his lips together and angling his beer to the two girls in greeting as Stiles dances back over to stand by his side.

"You're Kira the guitarist?" Scott asks Kira.

"Scott, it's Kira the guitarist!" Stiles says loudly over him, pointing to Kira.

"I…guess I'm Kira the guitarist?" Kira responds, her cheeks flushing as she drops her gaze to the drink she's nursing between her cupped hands.

"Very cool, I hope you like our sound," Scott says, smiling widely.

Lydia turns away from their conversation to focus on Stiles, who's balancing on his heels a few steps away as he sways in time with the '90s alt song that's begun playing as the band on the stage takes away the last of their instruments. As he catches Lydia's eye he bounds forward to her.

"Hey, do you wanna head to the back and meet Derek and Isaac?" He asks in one breath.

"We can't," Scott interjects, clapping a hand on Stiles's shoulder. "We've got to start loading our stuff."

"Oh yeah!" Stiles says. He points with both hands at Lydia.

"You guys wait here and we'll send Braeden out to you, okay?" He says.

"Who's—?" Lydia starts to ask, but Stiles and Scott are already weaving through the crowd, Stiles holding two thumbs up.

Lydia turns to Malia, who is downing her drink. She finishes with a toss of her hand and pulls the cherry out of the ice at the bottom of her empty cup, popping the whole thing in her mouth.

"They seem nice," Kira says tentatively, turning to Lydia.

"Stiles is _infuriating_ ," Lydia responds, taking a long sip from her drink. Malia pulls a tied cherry stem out of her mouth and sets it down on the bar, then leans forward towards Kira and grins.

"I think she likes him," She says.

"Like, _like_ likes him?" Kira asks.

"Oh my God," Lydia groans, spinning her stool around to face the stage.

Stiles emerges from the back, a bass drum held aloft over his head while a brooding guy with a jaw like cut steel brings out a hi-hat and a guitar. Scott comes next, mounting the small stairs with his arms loaded with amps. A curly blond trails behind him, hauling an effects pedal with a bass slung over his back. As they turn and head back to get more gear from the back, a girl in expensive Italian boots trots out from the space. As Broody Steel Jaw passes, she reaches a hand out and smacks him squarely on the ass. He turns his head quickly to her, his eyes catching the spotlights from the stage and flashing blue. She winks at him and he laughs, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before he disappears in the back. The girl looks up the bar, her eyes landing on Lydia. She starts to walk towards them.

"Are you Lydia?" The girl asks when she gets close enough.

"Are you Braeden?" Lydia replies. The girl laughs.

"Yeah, that's me," Braeden says. "Do you three want to come stand near the stage?"

"Er…sure!" Lydia says, hopping off of the stool and grabbing her drink from the bar. Malia quickly follows, her drink already gone. Malia takes Lydia loosely by the wrist as Braeden motions for them to follow her through the growing crowd. Kira hooks her fingers under the belt fastened loosely at Lydia's waist to stay close. The alcohol has begun working its way through her and Lydia smiles wide at the feeling of Malia's warm fingers against her skin and the pressure of Kira presence behind her. A loud boom sounds from the left as Triskelion begins sound checking their instruments. Lydia begins to laugh as they squeeze past the tightly packed mass, the sound swallowed up by the shriek of Scott's guitar.

Lydia ends up shoulder-to-shoulder with Braeden and Malia. Kira stands on the other side of Braeden, her empty cup held awkwardly in her hands.

"So who are the other guys?" Malia asks Braeden, almost leaning over Lydia to ask. On the stage, Stiles assembles his drum set, stumbling over wires as he goes. He looks behind him and finds Lydia in the crowd, grinning widely at her. Feeling brave, Lydia raises her cup to her lips and winks at him over the rim. His face flushes pink and he drops one of his cymbals with a crash. Lydia laughs as he turns back to the drum set, the back of his neck red.

"That one's Isaac," Braeden says, pointing at the blond with the bass. "And the guy with the permanent frown is Derek."

As if he could hear them, Derek turns to the crowd and finds Braeden at the front. A smile ghosts over his face before he slings his guitar over his shoulder and steps up to the mic, shouting "CHECK" to test the noise. Beside him, Scott does the same. Lydia notices the shining gold Mark on Derek's neck and turns to Braeden, scanning the exposed skin and finding the matching Mark peeking out from under her collar.

"Where'd you meet him?" Lydia asks, angling a head towards Derek.

"Work," Braeden says shortly.

"Ah," Lydia responds awkwardly, nodding and draining the last of her drink.

"Nothing as romantic as meeting on the subway," Braeden adds, smirking. Lydia groans.

"Has he been telling _everyone_ about me?" Lydia groans.

"Not _everyone_ ," Braeden says, smiling. "Just everyone who will listen."

"Even if you think you don't like like him, he definitely like likes you," Malia laughs into Lydia's ear. Lydia opens her mouth to respond, but she's cut off as Stiles unleashes a thunderous drum roll. She jabs an elbow into Malia's ribs instead.

Scott steps up to his mic and a cheer ripples out from the audience, no one screaming louder than the group of teenage girls from before. Isaac begins plucking a few lonely chords, the low thrumming ringing out through the air. He pauses, his last notes hanging heavy in the air, then in a sudden rush everyone else joins in. The noise is rough, almost feral, and Lydia finds herself swinging her hips in time with the frantic beat. Beside her, Malia crows and raises her arms above her head. Scott is yelling words into the crackling mic, the ropes of his neck muscles straining under his tan skin. Derek steps forward and roars, his teeth bared. In the back, Stiles is putting his long arms to use, his hands a blur as they bounce across the drum set. Isaac is jumping in place erratically, but he soon drops to his knees as he furiously pounds on his bass. Braeden shouts out the lyrics along with Scott, her head thrown back. Lydia lets a yell rip out of her, feeling wild and happy and free. Then, as quickly as it started, they end the song with a crash. Lydia cheers with the rest of the crowd, applauding loudly. She catches Kira staring up at Scott with stars in her eyes. Malia is laughing excitedly as she claps. She looks over at Lydia and swoops in, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. Lydia giggles. Malia winks.

Triskelion knows how to keep the crowd moving. Scott wails out songs about heartache and full moons and existentialism. At one point Isaac peels off his shirt and tosses it behind him, revealing a black spiral-shaped Mark on his side. The teenage girls scream so loudly that Lydia worries her eardrums will burst.

"Every fucking time," She hears Braeden growl beside her.

After 14 songs, Scott leans close to the mic with a wide smile. His face shines in the light. In the back, Stiles pushes his damp hair back away from his forehead, exhaling. He looks exhausted, but happy. He winks in Lydia's direction. She rolls her eyes, but can't help the smirk that spreads across her lips. Her limbs are hot and loose from dancing and alcohol, her chest flushed.

"So…hey," Scott says, his voice gravelly after an hour of screaming. The crowd yells back.

"It's been pretty incredible sharing the stage with this guy right here," He continues, swinging his hand out to gesture at Derek. The crowd cheers again as Derek nods his head, a smile fighting its way onto his face.

"But like they say, all good things and shit," Scott laughs, strumming a few notes on his guitar. "So this is our last song."

They start in again, even faster than before. The fans know this song, they're already singing along before Scott can get the words out. Even Malia seems to know most of this one and she's shouting out the lyrics into Lydia's ear, her hands on Lydia's shoulders as she jumps in place. Lydia's hips jam into the stage as someone stumbles into her from behind. She's laughing—deep, shaking laughs that rise from her belly to vibrate through her chest and out her smiling mouth. She loves this feeling: the pulse of the music, the press of the crowd, the hot energy surrounding her as the crowd surges forward. Scott is giving it his all, his eyes jammed shut and his fingers sliding down the neck of his guitar as he pours himself into the mic. Stiles is hovering over his seat, legs working frantically as he crashes down onto the cymbals. Derek is yelling harmonies with Scott and Isaac has pulled his bottom lip into his mouth as he sinks down once again to the floor. They finish with a lingering last note and Scott singing over the silence, mourning words flowing out and over the crowd. He finishes mid-word, pulling back and dropping his head, letting the buzz of the amps fill the space as the sound of the guitars cease. They sit quietly for two full seconds before the applause erupts. Lydia joins in, cheering along loudly with everyone else as the boys unplug their instruments and start hauling things off the stage.


	4. Chapter 4

**November (2) 2.**

"So what did you think of the show?"

Lydia lazily glances up from her strawberry-banana-chocolate chip pancakes. Across from her, Stiles hunches over a giant mound a greasy hashbrowns, his arms circling the plate like he's protecting it. His whiskey eyes are still bright from the three shots he had swallowed while Derek and Scott were trying to wrangle the last of the equipment into their old trailer parked behind Deucalion's. He had been loud and happy since then, flitting between Lydia and Scott and Braeden quicker than any of them could track on the entire two-block walk to the Crescent Diner.

"You guys were great!" Kira pipes up from Lydia's left before Lydia can answer. Scott leans forward eagerly, almost knocking over his mug of coffee as he goes.

"You really think so?" He asks her.

"I liked that one you played third. No—fourth," Lydia says, taking a syrupy bite of her pancakes.

"It's called Snip Snip Motherfucker!" Stiles yells excitedly. Their waitress shoots them a dirty glance from behind the counter as Malia lets out a high-pitched giggle, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.

"It's not called that!" Derek says sharply brandishing a fork with a skewered piece of sausage on the end.

"We don't call it that!" He continues, turning to the girls with a stern look on his face.

"I wrote it!" Stiles responds, slapping a hand down on the sticky table. "I decide what it's called and it's called Snip Snip Motherfucker!"

Malia keeps giggling into her palm, shaking so hard in her seat that she almost tumbles out of the booth. Isaac reaches out and grips her shoulder to keep her in her seat, a goofy smile wide across his cheeks.

" _It's_ _not called that_ ," Derek repeats, gesturing with the fork so hard that the piece of sausage sails off the end and lands in Braeden's omelette. She shrugs and mixes it in with the fold of her eggs.

"The lyrics are an in-depth history of the male circumcision told through the extended metaphor of Captain Ahab wanting to skin Moby Dick!" Stiles continues, the cords in his neck straining as his hands come up to card wildly through his hair. "Don't you feel robbed, Derek?! I feel _robbed_. Scott does too! He told me so!"

Malia drops her hand, deep belly laughs falling out of her. Lydia almost chokes on her pancakes, laughing into the back of her hand. Kira's face has gone bright red, matching Scott's flushed cheeks, though both are smiling.

"Drink some water, Stiles," Scott says, sliding Stiles's glass of water closer to him. Stiles seizes it and leans down, his tongue out and darting wildly around trying to find the straw as he glares up at Derek. Lydia laughs at him again as he finally claims the straw and sucks down the water like oxygen. She spends too long focused on the way his cheeks hollow when he drinks before quickly dropping her gaze back to her food.

"I'm so sorry you're stuck with him as a soulmate," Isaac says sympathetically to Lydia, funneling his own hashbrowns into his mouth.

"Oh, what does that even mean? _Soulmates_?" Lydia scoffs with a roll of her eyes. "The Marks don't guarantee anything."

Derek and Braeden look at each other and Braeden smiles wide. Lydia can see the matching Marks on their necks from her seat.

"I wouldn't say that," She says, turning to Lydia.

"You think her and Stiles should just get together, then?" Malia asks. Stiles lifts his head up from his drained glass, the straw still between his teeth.

"I wouldn't say that, either," Braeden replies, casually taking a bite of her omelette.

"What _would_ you say?" Malia presses. She swipes a piece of bacon off of Isaac's plate and crams it in her mouth before he can object.

"I'd say…that it's complicated."

"That's your big nugget of advice?" Lydia says. "That it's _complicated_?"

"Look, these things aren't an exact science," Derek says, waving a hand towards his Mark. "It's not like we saw each other and it was _love at first sight_ or anything."

"It was more like we just…we knew there was a connection," Braeden adds, nodding.

"I knew that she was going to be important to me in some way, I just didn't know how."

Isaac puts a hand up to his mouth and blows a noisy raspberry into it.

"Bullshit. Soulmates are soulmates are soulmates," He says with a shrug, smacking Malia on the back of her hand with his fork as she tries to steal another piece of bacon. "You two were chosen by whoever or whatever is up there to _be_ together, so you _are_ together. Simple."

"But what about the people who have matching Marks that _don't_ get together?" Lydia asks.

Isaac shrugs.

"Then they're stubborn," He says simply, scraping the remaining food on his plate into a heap in the middle.

Lydia rolls her eyes.

"So you think people can't have any meaningful relationships outside romantic ones?" She says. "What about people with different Marks who get together and stay together for years? What about people with no Marks at all? You think they're doomed to an existence alone because they weren't 'blessed with the means to find their Match?'"—Lydia throws her fingers up in quotation marks as she recites the mantra they've all heard hundreds of times—"Love isn't this one-shot thing. You _choose_ who you love and you _choose_ who means what to you, not some stupid mystical force."

Malia begins to slow clap. When no one joins in, she stops, but not before she winks at Lydia. Isaac is staring at her with his mouth hanging slightly open, clearly at a loss for words.

"You don't believe in fate?" Scott finally asks.

"She doesn't believe in fate," Stiles answers him, a bemused smile on his face.

"I don't believe in fate," Lydia affirms, nodding.

Scott looks at Stiles. Stiles shrugs, his smile still on his face.

"I believe in fate," Stiles says. "I don't believe in the Marks, but I believe in fate."

"How do you _not_ believe in the Marks?" Isaac scoffs.

"Like she says," Stiles replies, nodding towards Lydia. "People with different Marks get together and stay together for years. People with no Marks at all fall in love. People with red Marks still find love and live out happy, healthy lives with happy, healthy relationships. The Marks are good guidelines, sure, but they're not the end."

Stiles leans down and starts shoveling the rest of the hashbrowns into his mouth, looking up at Lydia with bright eyes.

"That's easy for you to say," Isaac says. "You're Golden."

"No, I'm Stiles," Stiles replies. "And you're an idiot."

"I'm with him," Malia says, pointing at Stiles before Isaac can respond. "I haven't found my Match, but that doesn't mean I'm just gonna wait around for them to show up. _But_ I know I'll meet my Match when I'm meant to meet them, you know?"

"I like her," Stiles says to Lydia. "Stay friends with her. She's smart."

Lydia rolls her eyes and kicks Stiles underneath the table. He looks scandalized and kicks back, missing entirely and hitting the seat beside her. Lydia leans forward and steals a bite of hashbrowns. Stiles retaliates by stealing a stray syrup-soaked strawberry off of her plate. He grins at her from across the table, syrup trailing down his chin, and Lydia laughs.

"You don't have a Mark," Malia says, turning to Kira. The alcohol had made her braver about talking to her ex. "What do you think?"

Kira looks around in surprise. Scott perks up.

"You don't have a Mark?" He asks. Kira shakes her head, cheeks red.

"Nah, I checked," Malia grins. Lydia reaches behind Kira to smack Malia on the back of the head.

" _Be nice_ ," She hisses. Malia winces and nods.

"No, I don't have a Mark," Kira mutters shyly, shifting away from Malia. "And I—I don't really know what I think. I mean, I _hoped_ fate was real, I guess. Or—I hope it _is_ real. But I don't know."

"Wonderfully said," Derek says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking the time. "But we've got to go."

Derek and Braeden scoot out of the booth and stand, Braeden stretching her arms behind her back and Derek tossing a handful of folded bills onto the table. Lydia glances down at her phone as well.

"We should head out, too," She says to Malia, who is smiling coyly at Isaac with her hand on his leg. Malia spins around in her seat, still smiling.

"I think I'm gonna stay out a little while longer," She says with a wink.

"Well, I've got a test tomorrow so I'm going to go home," Lydia responds, nudging Kira and forcing her and Malia to get out of the booth so she can exit.

"I'll walk you!" Stiles says, standing up so quickly that his knees knock into the table. Instead of making Scott move, he swings a long leg over the back of the booth and jumps down to the floor. He stumbles on the dismount, but quickly straightens up and tugs down his jacket.

"I can make it on my own," Lydia says, planting her hands on her hips.

"Right, but I can help!" Stiles beams. His smile fades and he leans towards Scott.

Lydia sighs. It _would_ be nice to have company, even if that company was a loud, tipsy Stiles.

" _Fine_ ," She concedes, turning towards Malia. "Don't stay out too late, you have a test tomorrow, too."

Malia waves as Lydia turns and starts for the door, Stiles trailing happily behind her.

"Stiles, the subway is _this_ way."

"But wouldn't you rather walk home?"

"It's _thirty degrees_ and it'll take an _hour_ to walk it."

"So, we'll make it a brisk walk."

Stiles smiles as Lydia stops under a streetlight, her hair glowing like fire. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, her arms tucked around her waist.

 _She's beautiful_ , He thinks, his thoughts still fuzzy from good alcohol and good food and good company. He thinks about telling her, briefly, but decides that now is not the time.

" _It's thirty degrees_. You'll freeze to death."

"Guess you'll have to walk close to me, then."

"You're crazy."

"C'mon, it'll be fun. We'll walk through the park."

Lydia lets out an exasperated sigh, the air leaving her in a misty cloud. Stiles smiles down at her. She shakes her head, her hair falling into her face, but she walks towards him and starts heading towards her apartment. He reaches into the pocket of his peacoat to grab his bomber hat, cramming it on his head as they start to walk.

"Hey," Stiles says after a moment of comfortable silence. "Do you want to play Questions?"

"How in the hell do you play Questions?"

"It's easy! I ask you a question and you answer it and then you ask me a question and I answer it."

"So…you're asking me to have a conversation with you?"

She's trying to look aloof, but Stiles sees the smile tugging at her lips.

"No, I'm asking you to play Questions."

Lydia rolls her eyes, but the smile stays.

"Fine, ask your question."

"What are your parents like?"

"You're starting with that one? Really?"

"We're playing Questions, Lydia, you have to answer."

They turn into the park, Stiles veering a little too sharply and almost knocking into Lydia.

"Fine. Dad works at a law practice in San Francisco. Mom's a guidance counselor at a high school. They're divorced. They have different Marks and uh…when Dad found his Match he left."

"Well that's super shitty. Is that why you don't believe in the Marks?"

"Hold on, Stilinski, you already asked your question, it's my turn."

"Look at you! Getting the hang of Questions. But you're right, sorry, go ahead."

"What's your favorite animal?"

"Oh, awesome starting question. _Sepia officinalis_."

"The cuttlefish?"

"Yes! How'd you know? Normally people are stumped."

"Triple major in biology, physics, and math. That counts as your question. My turn again."

Stiles laughs and shakes his head.

"You're definitely winning this round."

Lydia smiles slyly.

"Have you dated anyone before?"

"Ehhhhh…" Stiles makes a non-committal hand gesture. "I've had a few casual things. There was this girl, Heather. Our mom's were friends, so we like, took bubble baths together when we were little kids. We messed around in high school, lost our virginities in her dad's wine cellar on her seventeenth birthday—super proud of that, by the way. She just found her Match online. He seems nice. Lives in Romania."

Lydia nods at him.

"Then there was Danny," Stiles continues. "We were on the lacrosse team together. Short fling with Derek's younger sister that same year. Scott and I got drunk our freshman year at University and made out, that was a crazy week. A random smattering of people since then, but nothing serious."

Lydia laughs, the sound echoing through the bare trees around them. A couple rounds the path in front of Stiles and Lydia, sidestepping around them. Lydia moves closer to Stiles as they pass, her hand brushing accidently against his wrist. Her skin is warm against his. His head is clearer now, the cold counteracting the alcohol in his system. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"What about you? Any dalliances in your past?"

Lydia makes a strange noise that she covers by clearing her throat. Stiles pretends not to notice.

"There was Jackson Whittemore in high school. We were a power couple. But he moved away to London the summer before our junior year and he was an asshole anyway so it was really for the best. And there was…there were others. But nothing stayed—nothing stuck."

She folds her hands in front of her, staring down at her intertwined fingers.

Stiles nudges her softly.

"Your turn," He says.

"What are _your_ parents like?"

Stiles hums low in his throat.

"My father is the Sheriff of Beacon Hills back in California. He's a good man. He's the _best_ man."

Stiles pauses, letting his eyes sweep over the naked branches and travel down to the layer of dead leaves that blanket the ground. Lydia glances up at him, her eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Mom died when I was eight," He says, focusing on making sure his voice remains level. "Before she got sick, though, she was…she was the _sun_."

Lydia opens her mouth to say something, then stops. They pass a few beats in silence before she tries again.

"Does it…does it get better?" She finally asks, her voice small but firm.

Stiles stops on the path and looks at her. Lydia takes a few steps before she realizes he isn't beside her anymore and she turns to face him. He stares at her in front of him, her figure cast in shadows. Her Mark glints golden on her cheek in the faint light from a long-passed streetlight. Stiles focuses on it as he speaks.

"No," He says. "It doesn't."

Lydia balls her hands up into fists next to her, then unclenches them.

"People always say it gets better," She says, her voice stilted. "But every year it's like—it's like…"

"It's like you can't catch your breath because you miss them so much?" Stiles finishes for her, taking a small step forward. Lydia looks up at him and nods. Stiles reaches out and curls the pinkie of his right hand around the pinkie of her left hand.

"I will tell you that it heals," He says. "It's still hard, but it's less like an open wound. More like a scar."

Lydia nods again, her gaze falling and focusing on his chest. Her lips are pressed together in a line. Some of her hair has fallen down into her face. Stiles almost brushes it behind her ear, but restrains himself. Instead, he squeezes her pinkie with his and pulls her gently along. They begin to walk again, Lydia staring down at the path.

"Who'd you lose?" Stiles asks softly.

"My…Allison. My friend, Allison."

Stiles reaches out another finger and wraps it around her ring finger. Lydia lets him.

"We were in high school together. On Thursday it'll be five years."

Stiles nods.

"It helps if you stay busy. Do you have plans?"

"Besides class and curling up alone on my couch trying not to cry?" Lydia says with a dry laugh.

"Yeah, that's no good," Stiles says, sending a small, supportive smile in her direction. "Instead of that, would you like to go to class and then come watch us practice? I told Scott to invite Kira so we could see how well she plays. Malia can come, too."

"Will you bribe me with free drinks this time, too?" Lydia says, smirking up at him. Stiles laughs and swings their hands gently back and forth.

"We don't drink around the expensive equipment," He says. "I might've… _accidently_ damaged something and Derek made a no-liquid-but-water rule."

Lydia chuckles. The bricks arch marking the exit to the park is around the next corner. Stiles can see the lights through the trees.

"Sure, it sounds fun," Lydia says finally.

Stiles squeezes her fingers again.

"That's the spirit, Martin."

As they approach the arch, Stiles spots a smooth pebble at the base of bricks. He tightens his grip on Lydia's fingers to make her stop, then leans down and picks it up. He begins to walk again, turning the cold rock over in his palm before he slips it into the pocket of his peacoat.

"What was that?" Lydia asks him, brow furrowed.

"It's not your turn at Questions, Lydia," Stiles responds, wagging his free finger at her. Lydia rolls her eyes as she leads them down a side street.

"Fine, ask your question. My apartment is just a few blocks away."

"Did you have fun tonight?" Stiles asks, his 100-watt grin back on his face.

Lydia screws her face up at him. Stiles opens his mouth, feigning worry. Lydia giggles.

" _Yes_ , Stiles, I had fun."

"Good. Your turn."

They turn another corner.

"Is Stiles your real name?"

"It's my nickname."

"What's your real name?"

"It's _my_ turn, Lydia. What's your favorite color?"

"Lilac. What's your real name?"

Stiles laughs, his cheeks going red.

"Mstivoj," He says, reaching a hand up to scratch the back of his head under his cap. "Scott couldn't pronounce it when we were kids, so he started calling me 'Stiles' and it stuck."

" _Mstivoj_ ," Lydia tries out. "That's a _very_ Polish name."

"I know," Stiles says, still flushed. "It was my Mom's Dad's name. What's your favorite movie?"

" _The Notebook_. This is my apartment."

Lydia comes to a stop in front of a tall, worn building made of gray stone. She tugs her fingers from his grasp. He pretends not to miss the way she felt against him.

"You've got one more question," Stiles says. Lydia looks up at him, emerald meeting amber.

"Why do you wear this ugly hat?" Lydia asks with a smile on her lips, tugging on the side flap of his bomber cap. Stiles laughs and slides it off his head, holding the worn orange fabric between his hands.

"My dad was wearing this when he met my mom," Stiles responds, looking shyly up at Lydia from underneath his eyelashes. "I dug it out of the attic in high school and I've been wearing it ever since."

Lydia smiles, taking the cap out of his hands and shoving it roughly back onto his head. She stares up at him for a moment, her eyes soft, before she shakes her head and starts walking up the stairs to her apartment.

"Goodbye, Stiles," She calls over her shoulder.

"I'll see you Thursday," He calls back. He waits for her to enter the main doors before he starts a slow walk towards the subway, his fingers still tingling from where they'd been curled around hers.


	5. Chapter 5

**November (3).**

Lydia wakes up with someone's arm thrown over her hips and warm breath tickling the back of her neck. With a groan, Lydia rolls over to find Malia looking up at her with tired, glittering eyes in the darkness.

"'W'at time 's't?" Lydia asks, sleep making her tongue heavy in her mouth.

"Four…ish," Malia whispers back.

"Didn't stay with Isaac?" Lydia yawns.

"Fun to play with, not to eat," Malia grins. Lydia laughs softly and nuzzles her head against Malia's shoulder. Malia presses a kiss against Lydia's forehead.

"Stiles is really great," Malia says into Lydia's hair, running a hand up Lydia's back. Lydia groans.

"What the hell is a Stiles?" She scoffs.

"I can see why he's your Match," Malia continues, resting her hand on the dip in Lydia's waist and squeezing slightly.

Lydia mutters something back, but she's already falling asleep and the consonants all run together. She slips into sleep with her cheek against Malia's collarbone and Malia's shirt curled in her fist.

She dreams about Allison, smiling ghoulishly at her with cracked skin and blood on her hands.

Lydia does not eat at all the next day.

Thursday is one of those beautiful autumn days where the sun sits high and cheery, bathing everything in warm golden light. The air tastes crisp and the cool breeze that blows brings the smell of trees and dew and _life_ with it.

Lydia hates it. She wants heavy clouds and sheets of rain. She wants a cacophony of sound. She wants _chaos_. Instead, she puts on flawless make up and crowns her head with braids.

She slips out of the apartment before Malia wakes up. She mechanically takes notes through her classes, her back straight in her chair. She tries to smile when her teacher hands back their midterms and she sees her perfect score, but she can't quite manage. She ignores the two text messages from Malia and the eight from Stiles (three of which are just series of random emojis) before sending each of them an identical text promising that she'll still come watch Triskelion practice. Malia responds with a single heart. Stiles tells her that it would have strengthened the novels as a whole if the Golden Trio had been in different houses. Lydia types a two-paragraph response, but deletes it.

She returns to the apartment after her classes and trades in her heels for a pair of sensible flats. Malia walks through the door soon after and drops her bag heavily by the door, immediately pulling Lydia into a bear hug. She holds on tight, squeezing so hard that Lydia hears her back crack.

"You okay?" Malia asks, finally letting go. Lydia gives her a small smile and a nod.

"We should go," Lydia says, her voice small.

"Are you sure you still want to go?" Malia says, her hands firmly planted on Lydia's shoulders and her dark brown eyes earnest. "Say the word and we'll curl up on the couch and eat Phish Food and watch Glee until we fall asleep."

"You don't even like Glee," Lydia responds, letting out a short laugh.

"And I would take that hit for you," Malia nods solemnly.

Lydia thinks of the first time she saw Malia: the new girl striding down the hallway of their high school with her long blond hair wild around her face like a lion's mane and her eyes raging like fire.

"Who is _she_?" Allison whispered to Lydia, as Malia passed. Allison only had 17 days to live. Lydia curled her fingers in her hair, eyes sweeping over Malia's loose movements and knee-high boots.

"No idea," Lydia responded, turning to smile at Allison. "Let's go found out."

Allison had smiled back—that beautiful, wide smile framed with deep dimples that made Lydia's heart lurch every time—and they had set off after Malia hand-in-hand.

Lydia shakes her head, Allison's smile still dancing in her memory.

"No, let's go," She says, trying to smile as she slowly shrugs out of Malia's grasp and grabs her purse from the dining room table. "It'll be good to do something, you know?"

Malia smiles supportively, picking her bag up from the floor and slinging it over her shoulder. She takes Lydia by the hand as they leave the apartment and, though Lydia appreciates Malia's warm hand, she can't help but remember Allison's cold, calloused fingers and they way they fit so neatly between her own.

The practice space they use is in the storage basement of an old warehouse. They slip the owner $200 every month and he lets them fill the space with ratty couches and old gear. He even lets them tap into the power for free. Stiles suspects it might have something to do with the way Derek smiles at him when he casually slides the envelope of cash over. He really hopes they get to keep the space when Derek leaves.

Stiles has already been there for an hour, trying to make the place presentable. He's already swept (three times) and rearranged the couches ( _twice_ ) and he's just itching to organize the instruments but he knows that Scott has an ironclad rule against anyone touching his guitar (he moves Isaac's bass two feet to the left just for laughs anyway). By the time Isaac and Scott finally show up, Stiles is too excited to play anything on the right rhythm. The sticks keep skittering out of his hands and tumbling to the floor.

"Okay, you _seriously_ need to get your shit together," Isaac says after the fifth time Stiles drops the beat.

"He's just nervous because Lydia's coming," Scott says before Stiles can respond. "But yeah, Stiles, you need to get your shit together."

Stiles throws his hands up.

"I'm not _nervous_ ," He scoffs with a pout.

"Nervous is your resting state," Scott responds casually, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. "Also, the girls are here."

Stiles stands up so suddenly that he knocks over his stool.

Kira walks in first, her guitar case slung over her shoulder. When Scott opens the door for her with a goofy grin across his face, she immediately stumbles and smacks into the doorframe. She walks past Scott with a red face, her head down. As Lydia steps into view, Stiles is struck by how _small_ she looks. He doesn't think he's ever seen her in flats and the five-inch difference is jarring. Malia trails behind her, tall and bronze. They're holding hands, but Lydia lets go once they step into the room. Stiles bounds out from behind his drum set and stops short of Lydia, searching her face. She gazes up at him, looking everywhere but his eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asks her, his voice low. He thinks about putting his hands on her shoulders, but crosses them tightly over his chest instead.

"I'm fine," She says, too quickly. Stiles squints, but doesn't respond.

"So we're supposed to sit on _those_?" Lydia asks, staring at the couches with a wrinkled nose.

Stiles sticks a lip out in fake indignation.

"These are the best couches in the land, Lydia," He says, smacking the arm of the couch for emphasis. He ignores the plume of dust that rises when he does so. "The _best couches in the land_."

"How much area does this 'land' cover?" Lydia asks, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "Because it doesn't even seem to stretch as far as this room."

Malia flops down on the couch, grinning up at Lydia as the worn cushions creak beneath her. She pats the spot next to her with a raised eyebrow. Lydia rolls her eyes, but perches herself on the edge of the seat. Stiles spends a moment too long looking at Lydia's profile before he walks back to his drum set.

Isaac saunters over to the couch and sits on the arm, leaning towards Malia with a smile while plucking out the bass riff from Final Fantasy 7. Scott and Kira have their guitars out, both kneeling on the ground while Scott directs her on how to play their most popular song, "Why Are We Yelling Again?" Stiles starts beating out a steady rhythm to help, keeping his eyes on Lydia. She's smiling thinly at Malia and Isaac's conversation, but when she looks away her smile slowly fades. Stiles feels his heart stutter in his chest at the look on her face. She looks up at him and he winks at her, stumbling momentarily on the beat. She offers a small smile in return and shakes her head, averting her gaze.

They jam for twenty minutes while Scott teaches Kira the basics of their songs. Stiles steals glances at Lydia when he can and makes a few snide comments at Isaac to try and make her laugh. Finally, Scott and Kira stand and together, the four of them play the song from the beginning. Kira shreds like a master on the guitar, her fingers flying over the strings. She keeps pace perfectly, her eyes on Scott's fingers, her lips pressed together in concentration. She fumbles near the end, struggling to catch up as the rhythm gets more erratic.

"I'm sorry," She says with a grimace when the song ends.

"No, no you were great!" Scott responds, nodding enthusiastically. "The end is hard! You'll get there, don't worry."

Kira smiles shyly, ducking her head to hide her blush.

Stiles almost misses what happens next.

Scott puts his pick between his teeth and shrugs out of his jacket, turning to toss it onto the free spot on the couch. As he turns back around to Kira, Lydia stands and lets out a choked scream. Her hand slaps over her mouth, her wide eyes staring directly at the red Mark on his bicep. Everyone freezes, their eyes on Scott. Scott looks confused, his mouth hanging slightly open. Malia rises slowly, her gaze flitting worriedly between Lydia and Scott.

"What's going on?" Isaac finally asks.

Scott looks down at his Mark, comprehension dawning on his face. He reaches a hand up, his thumb touching the arrowhead gently.

"Did you know—?" He manages.

Malia tilts her head in his direction, focusing on Lydia as she breathes out a single word:

" _Allison_."

Lydia turns on her heel and runs out the door, slamming it shut behind her. She feels like she's going to be sick. She runs until she's outside, gulping in deep breaths of chill air. Her face is red, her chest tight from the sobs threatening to spill out. She slams her back into the brick face of the building, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to steady her breathing. She remembers, vividly, kissing Allison's Mark the day she left for the hunting trip that would take her life.

"It'll just be for the weekend, Lydia," She had laughed, brown eyes shining, leaning out the passenger side of her father's car.

But it wasn't, it was forever, and Lydia thought she would never see that arrowhead again until Scott McCall had turned around and there it was on his fucking arm.

Beside her, the door opens. Lydia's head shoots up, expecting Malia or even Stiles. Instead, Scott emerges, his jacket back around his shoulders and Lydia's coat in his hands. He walks up to her and stands uncomfortably on the pavement for a silent moment before he holds her coat out to her.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" He asks.

Lydia stares up at him. She tries to image Allison blushing when she looks up at Scott's crooked jaw, her fingers bunched in the fabric of his shirt. Allison holding hands with Scott as they walk down the street, their shoulders knocking affectionately together. She tries to imagine Allison Argent loving Scott McCall.

She nods and takes her coat.

Scott leads the way, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. Lydia falls into step next to him, gaze towards the pavement. After four blocks she glances up at him. He's clenching his jaw as he walks, his eyebrows drawn together. After two more blocks, Scott gently touches her arm and leads her into a small deli on the corner. Lydia takes a seat in a worn green chair next to the window while Scott goes to get them each something to drink. Lydia pulls out her phone and scrolls to her pictures, opening the folder that she never opens. When he returns holding two lattes with identical heart patterns sitting neatly in the foam, Lydia slides the phone across the table to him. He looks down at Allison's face for the first time, his eyes glowing in the light of the screen.

Lydia watches Scott as he sees his Match for the first time, curling her hands tightly around the ceramic mug to keep them from shaking. Scott's expression melts as he scans the small, blurry photo of Allison Lydia took one lazy Saturday they spent together. Allison is flooded in early morning sunlight, her sleep-tousled hair elegantly framing her face. Scott drinks her in, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he lets out a deep sigh. Finally, he shakes his head and pushes the phone back across the table to Lydia.

"I know this is hard," He says, his voice low. "But…but what was she like?"

Lydia's heart swells and aches inside of her chest. She takes a deep breath. The foam in her latte is melting, the heart distorting. Lydia clears her throat, trying to swallow the lump there. It's been so long since Lydia has actually talked about Allison. She's spent so much time talking _around_ Allison, tiptoeing the edges of her ghost because the weight of her name was too much to bear. But Scott McCall was Allison's Match and he would never see the light in her eyes when she laughed and it just wasn't fair.

"She was brave," Lydia starts. "And kind. And she could be stubborn when she wanted to be. She liked green candy the best, she hummed when she cooked, and she made the worst spaghetti I've ever tasted but she was so proud of it that I told her it was the best spaghetti in the world."

Lydia smiles sadly, remembering the chewy, undercooked pasta Allison had put in front of her. Tears form at the corners of her eyes.

"She loved her parents and her aunt and she loved dogs, but she never got to own one because her family moved a lot. She was terrible at Chemistry. She liked listening to folk music from the 70s when she was sad because she said it made her think of rain. She was so beautiful. Just…just so beautiful. She was…she was…"

She remembers Stiles at the park, his face open with old hurt in the yellow glow of the street lights.

 _"She was the_ sun _."_

Lydia swallows hard. Tears have overflowed onto her cheeks. She reaches up to wipe them away with her sleeve. Scott immediately reaches over and wraps his hand around hers. He radiates heat, his palm pleasantly warm against her skin. He squeezes slightly and she squeezes back, grateful for the contact.

"You loved her a lot," He says. Lydia nods, sniffing loudly as she tries to slow her crying.

"You would have loved her, too," She replies, scrubbing her face again. Scott drops his gaze to his untouched latte, the heart melted away into an undecipherable blob.

"I know," He mutters. With his free hand, he reaches up and rubs the spot on his arm where his Mark sits under the fabric, faded and red.

They sit like that, hands together, until their untouched lattes turn cold. Finally, prompted by three texts from Malia, Lydia suggests they head back to the practice space. Scott casually puts an arm around Lydia's shoulders as they walk.

"You know," Scott says, smirking down at Lydia. "Stiles will only be more adamant about fate now."

Lydia rolls her eyes, but finds herself smiling anyway.

"There's no such thing as fate."


End file.
